


Shosanna Dreyfus and Erik Lehnsherr Kill Nazis (I could give it a better title, but this is straightforward, why change it? Also with a title like this, I don’t really need a summary.)

by bismoran



Category: Inglourious Basterds (2009), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Blood, Child Death, Child Murder, Gore, Graphic Violence, Holocaust, Murder, Nazis, Sexual Harrassment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-27
Updated: 2014-02-27
Packaged: 2018-01-14 00:39:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1246240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bismoran/pseuds/bismoran
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Exactly what it says on the tin. Shosanna and Erik kill Nazis.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shosanna Dreyfus and Erik Lehnsherr Kill Nazis (I could give it a better title, but this is straightforward, why change it? Also with a title like this, I don’t really need a summary.)

“Are you ready?” Shosanna Dreyfus asked her companion, touching up her lipstick in the mirror. The hotel room they were in was rather grand, and well decorated, more than twice the size of the farmhouse where they lived in the Ukraine. The stain-glass sconces on the wall made the lights shine upwards and outwards, making it far brighter than their house as well. The carpets were plush and beige, and there was a large king-sized bed in the centre of the room, made up with a brocade duvet.

In the left hand corner was the vanity where the blonde touched up her makeup. 

“I believe so,” Erik said from the lavatory. His French, the language they were using, was far more hesitant than her's. Not nervous, just uncertain, as though he wasn't sure he was picking the right words. Which he wasn't, Shosanna knew. French was not his mother tongue.

He stepped out of the lavatory, wearing a rather smart, well-tailored tuxedo. It was a little worn in places, frayed in spots, all well hidden, but visible if one looked closely, and if one were to look at the seams inside the tux, one would note that the work done fitting it was done after the work done making it. Clearly secondhand. But, provided no one looked too closely, it seemed right. “I can't figure out how to tie the uh,” he held the ends of his black bowtie out towards her, though she was more than twenty feet from him. The word for it escaped him for a moment.

“Bowtie,” she said, enunciating the word, ensuring Erik heard and understood her. He repeated it under his breath a few times. “I'll help you in a moment. Let me add the last touches on my makeup.” Shosanna leaned in closer to the mirror, pulling her lower eyelid down to apply mascara to her lower lashes more easily. It was a bitch to do. Especially since she developed the twitch of her trigger finger every time her and Erik went out hunting together. Part nerves, part excitement. 

Erik sat down on the bed, watching as Shoshanna applied her makeup, carefully, with a tight grip, but soft pressure. It was a talent, Erik could tell that much.“We're....Magnus Armbruster and his French wife, Minou, correct?”

“Correct.” 

There was silence for a few moments. Erik picked up a pillow and began to play with it, twisting it and flipping it in his hands. He was still so young, barely twenty-two. But that was hard to see when he wore that hard face. But sometimes, like then, he let that face slip for a few moments, and one could see just how young he was. He was a kid.

“You miss Anya and Magda.”

“I do,” Erik agreed. “It's Anya's bedtime now. I wish I was there, to read to her. I told her when she turned six, we'd start 'The Hobbit'.”

“You're making the world safer for her,” Shosanna reminded him. She ran an eyeshadow brush over her creases twice, before standing up and turning around. “You need to remember that.”

Erik nodded. He studied her outfit, her hair. She wore a slinky black evening gown, with gold embroidery around the bottom, and thin straps, four of them on both sides, holding it barely onto her shoulders. It was tight, but in the best possible way. He looked away from that, though, up to her eyes, as she crossed the room to tie his tie. Her hair was worn loose and curled. She was beautiful. Not as pretty as his Magda, but beautiful.

“That's the dress Mrs. Panchyshyn sold you?”  
Shosanna nodded. She sat down on the bed next to Erik, and began to tie his tie deftly.

“I would never recognize it.” 

“It's very impressive what some rickrack and a few snips here and there can do.” Her voice was plain, almost bored. 

“You don't like wearing dresses, do you?”

“No.”

“Well, then, the sooner we can bring our honoured guest back to the room, the sooner you can get out of it.” When she was done tying his tie, Erik offered Shosanna his hand, and, carefully, slowly, in order to hide Shosanna's slight limp, they walked to the door, opened it, and stepped out into the hallway.

–  
Herr Yager was a tall, fat man, who preferred hand knit sweaters to the uniform which he wore only three years before. He had large, watery eyes, and a very round nose. He was balding in spots along his hairline, but he wasn't ugly by any means. 

Herr Yager or Señor Bauer, as he was now known, wasn't one for opulence, since the war ended. He was fairly certain living large was the way to get one caught. And getting caught could get one killed. 

But once a year, on his anniversary, he and his wife would leave the comfort of their large farm near Concepción, to take a trip to Buenos Aires, to stay in one of the large hotels there, wine and dine Margot, and neck with her like when they were first courting. 

“How are you tonight, my beauty?” Yager asked his wife, bending over to whisper in her ear as she struggled to put on her clip on earrings. She failed three times, before turning around to look at her husband.

“I'm feeling a little ill,” Margot said honestly, blinking hard a few times. “I hate to ask, Darling, but do you think you could go to dinner without me? I feel really ill....I think there must have been something wrong with my food at lunch.”

“Are you sure you don't want me to stay here, Treasure?”

“Go. Have fun. Talk to people. I think I'm gonna curl up in bed and take a nap.”

Herr Yager nodded, kissed his wife's pale cheek, then her dark, curly hair, and walked to the door, letting himself out into the hallway.

–  
Paying for trips abroad like this would be expensive for a sunflower and wheat farmer like Erik if he needed to pay out of pocket. After all, food, clothing, a fancy hotel room, alcohol, weapons, poisons, if need be, all were very expensive. 

But Erik had other resources to pay for his and Shosanna's trips and other expenses. When he and Magda escaped the camps, despite his weakness, he had managed to steal twelve bricks of solid gold from out of one of Schmidt's vaults. With the exception of the first brick, which they used to settle themselves, buy food, clothing, a house, a bed, Erik had a rule about the rest, which Magda had agreed to. The gold used to make the bricks had been stolen from both of their people, melted down wedding rings, gold fillings from teeth, so it was only fair that the money they could get for each gold brick should go to ridding the world of the evil that had taken their families.

“Herr Yeger's wife was drinking cocktails at the bar earlier,” Erik said, “I dosed her drink with oleander, so we should have him all to ourselves.”

Poisoning an innocent made Shosanna uncomfortable, but she didn't let it show. She kept herself stonefaced, just like Erik was. “Enough to kill?”

“Enough to make her sick.”

She nodded, glancing at Erik, then straight ahead at the hallway, white walls with hexagons on the bottom half of them, each filled in with wallpaper, 

They turned left at the end of the hallway, perfectly in sync with one another. 

They turned at the end of this hallway, walking out to the grand staircase which led to the hotel's restaurant, where Herr Yeger was probably going to be eating. 

The two's arms were hooked, and they tried their best to look natural. Tonight was a gamble. They weren't sure their plan would work, but it was worth trying.

They walked over to the maître d', a man barely out of his teens, with oiled hair and a tuxedo that fit him well enough, minus the cummerbund. Herr Yeger's table, his usual table, was up to the man's left. He sat at the table, nursing a glass of wine. 

Erik gave him a kind, disarming smile. “Hello, I believe my wife and I have a reservation, under the surname Armbruster?”

The man, boy, really, scanned the book, running one long thin pale finger down the page, mouthing the names as he looked. “I'm sorry. I don't see you.”

Erik turned to Shosanna. “I'm afraid he can't seat us, my darling,” he said, a little louder than he'd usually would speak, using German.

Shosanna understood. And she would have, even if they hadn't rehearsed this part four or five times. Her knowledge of German had improved since moving in with Erik's family, who all spoke it as their main language, though they used others as well. 

“But darling, it's my birthday!” Shosanna let the sound of almost tears slip in.

Erik turned to the maître d' again, switching back to Spanish and saying what Shosanna told him to tell him.

Shosanna glanced for a split second, to see if Herr Yeger was watching them. He was. Good. Good. All was going well.

“I'm sorry sir, we don't have a table.”

Erik translated what the maître d' had said to him. On cue, Shosanna burst into tears. Erik brought her close to her chest, and hugged her, shushing her in German, and bits of French. 

Herr Yeger walked over to the maître d', and whispered something quietly into his ear. The man nodded, and turned back to the couple, a look of puzzlement on his face.

“This guest is willing to share his table with you, if you don't mind sharing.”

“We don't at all,” Erik said quickly, then he translated what was being said to Shosanna, who stopped her tears and wiped her face, now red.

The man led them over to Herr Yeger's table, pulling over two chairs for Erik and Shosanna.

“Thank you so much, sir,” Shosanna said, her German halting, her French accent still very clear. 

“My own wife would kill me if she heard I let a beautiful couple like yourselves miss out of dinner at a restaurant as fine as this one, on this beautiful flower's birthday. What are your names?”

“I'm Magnus, and this is my beautiful wife, Minou.” Erik offered the man a hand, and Yeger shook it. Shosanna did the same, and Yeger kissed it. She forced a giggle, even though, in the pit of her stomach, all she wanted was to slap the man and wash her hand clean with the hottest water she could find.

“I'm Wolfram Bauer. A Frenchwoman. Did the two of you meet during the war?” The man swirled the wine in his wine glass around a few times, then took a sip. 

“Yes,” Erik said. “France is a beautiful country, have you ever been?”

“I can't say I have.”

“Oh, you really must sometime,” Shosanna said, allowing her accent to become thicker, “The Côte d'Azur is the most beautiful place I've ever been, and the way it smells like the sea,” she closed her eyes and smiled, trying to remember it. She'd been once, as a child. With her family before the war. “It really does live up to it's name. So blue. And the sea is warm, and...” she shook her head, and reopened her eyes. “The sky is glorious at night as well. I don't know how to describe in German. I am sorry.”

“It's fine, my dear,” Yeger said, placing an arm over her shoulder and clapping her back twice. She winced, her expression showing aggravation for a split second. “Are you alright?”

“I hurt my back a few months ago, I have screws there. It hurts for people to touch it,” she explained quickly. 

“Minou is very delicate,” Erik informed him.

“Ah. I am very sorry, darling, I meant no harm.” He slipped a hand down and patted her thigh. This was really testing Shosanna's patience. She glanced at Erik, who's gaze, eyes like blue ice, acted as an anchor to ground herself with, a reminder of why they were here, why she couldn't just reach for her gun and shoot this man down like the dog he was here and now.

She scooted over a bit, towards Erik, and turned her attention to the menu. She looked up and pushed it away, once she realized it was entirely in Spanish, which she could not read. 

“What's good here?” she asked Erik, voice a whisper. 

“I really recommend the grilled beef with chimichurri sauce,” Yeger said. “They don't add chilis to theirs like other places do. It's far too spicy with those in it.”

Shosanna nodded. 

Between that moment, and the time dinner was nearly over Yeger touched Shosanna without her permission three more times. Erik knew she wouldn't last much longer than that.

“If I didn't know better, sir, I'd think you had an interest in my business partner,” Erik said, giving him a smile.

“Business partner? I'd have thought this beautiful flower was your wife.” He let out a laugh and clapped her back again. She openly glared at him, and he removed his hand. “What business are the two of you in?” 

Shosanna and Erik both cocked the pistols they had fixed on him under the table. The look of fear in Yeger's face made it clear he heard it.

“We're in the Nazi hunting business,” Shosanna said quietly, “And the three of us are going to have a little conversation.”

“Y-you can't shoot me here. There are too many witnesses. You will be arrested, and you will go to jail.”

“We don't want to shoot you,” Erik lied. “The two of us just wish to have a conversation like civilized humans. Now, you are going to pay for our meals, and the three of us are going to exit the restaurant like we're old friends. Then, the three of us will walk outside to where a car is waiting. If you disobey anything we say, we will shoot you.”

“Please,” Yeger said, “I have a wife. Children. My daughter Helen is going to get married in only a few months.”

“My parents had children. My sister was a child,” Erik said, voice quiet and deadly.

“We are having pity,” Shosanna said, “We are letting your wife and children live. And if you come with us willingly, we may let you live as well.”

Yeger stood, as did Erik and Shosanna, hiding the guns as well as they could as well as they did. They led him through the ornate hotel lobby and out into the cool Argentine night.

They walked a block, perhaps two, to a car. 

Shosanna got into the driver's seat, Erik into the back with Yeger. Once the door was closed, Erik fixed his gun on him placing the barrel against the shaking man's temple. The car started, and shook them for a second, before pulling out of the parking spot.

“We were very fortunate to find you,” Erik said, “We'd been looking for months, Shosanna and I, trying to find you. I was separated from my sister when I was in the camps. Ruthie was sent to a different one from I. Do you know Ruthie? Ruthie Eisenhardt? She was eleven years old when we were separated. She had the most beautiful hair, you know. Dark and thick, and shiny. Not that you'd have seen her with it.”

“N-no,” Yeger said. “I didn't know the girl.” His voice shook nervously, and he reached into his pocket to pull out a handkerchief. If Erik hadn't had his powers, he might have shot Yeger then and there, the sweating bastard that he was. He could have been reaching for a gun. But Erik could tell, other than a small pen knife, and a bullet logged in his thigh, the man had no metal on him anywhere, no gun.

“You should,” Shosanna said from the front seat. “We have it on good authority you were the one who shot her.”

“No,” he repeated. “I did not know her.”

Erik smiled, it was an evil, shark-like grin. Animalistic and terrifying, he looked mad with glee as he made a motion with the hand that didn't hold the gun, a quick twist, like he was turning a doorknob, his mind focused on that bullet in Yeger's leg. “I was hoping you'd say that.”

Yeger let out a shriek of pain, pursing his lips together to keep from crying out. 

“That bullet in your leg. It's going to be the source of many of your problems tonight, if you don't tell me the truth, Herr Yeger.”

The man's eyes, glancing at Erik, widened in fear, “What sort of demon are you?”

“No demon. Frankenstein's monster, out for revenge. And I plan to get it.” He grinned wide. 

“We're going to ask you again, do you remember Ruthie Eisenhardt?”

“No. No! I swear, I swear on my mother's soul, I never met her.”

Erik twisted his hand again, and the man next to him began bawling. Which just made Erik laugh. “Your mother should be ashamed to have a son like you.”

“Please. Please let me go. Please. Have mercy. Please, Lord, save me,” he begged, clasping his hands together and looking skyward. Erik punched him in the face with the hand holding the gun. The man's face began to bleed, splattering small drops of blood onto the ceiling, Erik's tuxedo, the back of Shosanna's chair, a few drops into her hair, onto Erik's face. 

“Shut up you ugly bastard. No one is going to help you. No one is going to have mercy on you,” Shosanna said.   
They were near the city limits now. Only a half-hour drive to the mountains. Less if she drove as fast as she could. Which she would. 

“I'm going to ask you again, do you remember Ruthie Eisenhardt?” Yeger's leg was bleeding through his trousers now, from the bullet twisting around inside his leg, and that just made Erik's bloodlust worse. He wanted this man beaten and bloody in front of him, begging and pleading for his life. 

“Y-yes.”

“What did you do to her? What did you do to my baby sister? If you tell us the truth, we won't hurt you anymore. We'll let you go.”

“I-I wasn't the one to shoot her.”

Erik didn't twist his hand again. Instead he drew a downward line in the air. The bullet bored itself deeper into Yeger's leg. The man shrieked in agony.

Shosanna grinned and turned on the car radio. A woman singer crooned in Spanish about lost love, while Yeger screamed and plead for his life.   
–

They reached the mountains around midnight. Shosanna pulled off to the side of the road, putting the car in park. 

“Get him out of the car and down on the ground,” she instructed Erik, who nodded. The two of them got him out of the car, leading him over to a corpse of trees. 

“Sit,” Erik instructed, pointing with the gun to the crotch of some trees. 

Yeger didn't listen. This time Shosanna hit him with her pistol, hitting him in the mouth so hard it knocked out four teeth. 

“Sit,” she hissed. This time Yeger complied, spitting out the teeth she'd knocked out, mouth filling with blood. 

“Please kill me,” Yeger begged. “Please. I am so sorry for killing your sister. I was following orders. Please. I hurt so bad.”

“Usually,” Shosanna said, turning to Erik, face straight, no emotions, “They give us at least six hours of fight. This one though, he's pathetic. It's barely been an hour.”

“He killed a child. Of course he's pathetic. But I must say I'm disappointed. I thought the coward had more in him.”

Shosanna laughed. “I'm not surprised he doesn't.” Her eyes were still fixed on Erik, as she raised her gun and shot at Yeger's crotch. The man screamed in agony. “Would you like to do the honours?” 

Erik nodded, turning to face the man and pulled the trigger, shooting him in the neck. Blood began to gush out of the wound. Erik and Shosanna watched, waiting til Yeger bled out, and then walked to the car. 

They grabbed a bag of spare clothes out of the trunk, and began to change into them, Erik outside the car, Shosanna inside. He pulled off his jacket, placed it on the trunk of the car, then slowly unbuttoned his tuxedo shirt. He pulled his cummerbund off over his well muscled chest, kicked off his shoes, and removed his trousers, leaving him only in white boxers, and black socks. He pulled a pair of trousers, a clean shirt, and some suspenders out of the bag and dressed in them, putting his shoes back on, and throwing the tux back into the bag. In total, it took him five minutes to get redressed. 

He pushed his cuffs up his arms and placed his bag back in the trunk, and waited for Shosanna to finish dressing. He looked around at the scenery. Other than the corpse leaning against the tree, it was picturesque, even in the dark. A dirt road. Healthy looking ground cover, a small stream on the opposite side of the car, other mountains in the distance on all sides. 

Sometime, if he ever got wealthier, he and Magda must really bring Anya here. Argentina was beautiful, when one wasn't hunting Nazis.

–  
The flight from Buenos Aires to Kiev took nearly eighteen hours. And the drive home on top of that took about five more. 

By the time Erik and Shosanna returned to the little house in the mountains, with it's wheat field and massive sunflowers, it was late afternoon. Magda was outside, watering the small garden in front of the house, Anya running around beside her, turning somersaults and cartwheels, gleeful the sun was out and bright and warm. 

For a second, before coming down the hill that led to the farm, despite being exhausted, Erik and Shosanna just stared for a second, at the people they loved, reminding themselves why they did what they did. 

“Marcel knows, yes?” Erik asked her, glancing over. He spoke to her in French, gentle and soft.

“Marcel knows. Magda doesn't?”

“I think she does. She doesn't talk about it. She doesn't ask about it. I think she worries. A killer for a husband, you know.”

'Not a killer. A hero,” Shosanna reassured him. She walked down the hill, not waiting for Erik.   
–

Both couples had different rituals for homecomings. 

Shosanna would take a bath in the large metal tub, washing the blood out of her hair, out from under her nails, the dirt and grime, real, or imagined, off her skin, and then dress in her blue silk robe and sit in bed, in the corner near the headboard, back against the wall, and sit there. There where it smelled like Marcel, clutching his pillow and sit and wait for him to come in. And he'd kiss her, and hold her, and they'd lay under the covers that night, face to face, chest to chest, so close they could feel one -anothers' heartbeats. She'd stare into his deep dark eyes, and they'd mumble in French at one another. 

“You found him Shosanna? Marcel would always ask her, holding her hand, kissing her nose. Every single time.

“Yes.”

“What did he do?”

“He killed Erik's sister,” she'd say, or “He was the one who murdered Magda's uncle,” or “He slaughtered so many children.” The answer was different every time. 

Then he'd ask her to tell him how she did it. 

“A hatchet. I buried a hatchet in his skull.” Or, “I shot him in the neck, and set the house on fire, so he could bleed to death while burning alive,” or “Erik made him beg us not to push him off the roof. And we didn't. Instead we shot him in the head and let him fall off.”

Then Marcel would run his fingers over her lower lip, push her blonde hair out of her face, and just stare at her. “It was justice,” he'd remind her, voice quiet, staring at her under the light of the candle by their bed. 

“Yes,” Shosanna would agree, wrapping her arms around him, and brushing her lips against his, “It is justice.”

Magda and Erik didn't talk about it. They'd eat outside, if the weather was nice enough, Magda, Anya, Erik, sitting on a patchwork quilt Magda made out of fabric scraps a neighbor gave her, and eat dinner together. And neither Anya nor Magda would mention the blood caked around his fingernails, or in his hair, or the small, almost unnoticeable smudge of it on his cheek, and Anya would talk about what had happened while he was gone.

“I caught a lady bug!” or “I beat Illia Kravchuck and his sister in a race!” or “Mama and Marcel made cake!”

And Magda would tell him how much she missed him, and she'd kiss his cheek, and that would be the only time she'd touch him.

And Magda and Anya would get their bed that night. Erik would sleep on the floor.

“She's been having nightmares,” had been Magda's excuse at first, but now she didn't even need to say it.

She couldn't sleep with him the first night. Knowing he'd killed a man while he was gone. Sometimes she couldn't the second night either. But by the third night she usually did. And they'd cuddle close, and kiss, and touch each other like they were starving for it.

Erik was always a better father when he returned. He was a good father in general, but when he came back from these trips, he was father of the year material, taking Anya for adventures in the woods, telling her stories, teaching her songs, drawing with her. Every one of these trips reminded him just how precious life was. 

For weeks, months after, he'd carry her to town on his shoulders every time they went. 

And, on Thursday nights, when Magda took Anya over to Madame Petrov's house, Marcel, Erik, and Shosanna would dig through newspaper clippings, and books, and boxes, with names, descriptions, looking for new prey. New garbage to clean off the streets. 

The End


End file.
